Diddydums Dursley and the Dudley Hallows
by Seer of Spots
Summary: Dudley is waiting in Privet Drive. The Order of the Phoenix is coming to escort him safely away without Voldemort and his followers knowing. But what will Harry do then? Where is he going? SOS decides to rewrite Deathly Hallows. Not HarryDudley.
1. The Diddy Lord Ascending

Diddydums Dursley and the Dudley Hallows

By Heaven's Flying Fish.

**Chapter One:** The Diddy Lord Ascending

o:o:o

Two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second, they stood quite still, wands directed at each other's chests; then, recognising each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and started walking briskly in the same direction.

"News?" asked the taller of the two.

"The best," replied Severus Snape.

Although the lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, and on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge, Dudley Dursley was completely unaware of this.

Ever since Harry had come home from the holidays, he had shut himself up in his room. Dudley Dursley, of the first bedroom, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, The Solar System, That Galaxy, Our Universe, had been waiting for his cousin to come out of his bedroom ever since. After the summer before Dudley's fifth year, in which he had been attacked by Dementors, Dudley had been deeply in awe of his younger relative.

Unlike Dudley, Harry was lithe and tall with dark, messy hair and round glasses. He was, in fact, not short and stocky as he was often portrayed to be in such films as 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix' and all subsequent and preceding counterparts. Somehow he had been confused with a 'Daniel Radcliffe' character, despite their remarkably contrary physiques.

Dudley, who had turned seventeen one month earlier, remained Boxing Champion, and was now 'blonde and muscular', rather than an unsightly tub of lard, according to 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows', written by J.K. Rowling.

Dudley was a Muggle. He was … a pretty ordinary Muggle, a little thuggish, maybe, with no weird scars or skills to speak of. The only weird thing about him was, in fact, his cousin.

Harry.

Who was a Wizard.

Harry Potter was not 'Just Harry' like he'd first thought in 'Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone', but 'The Chosen One', 'The Boy Who Lived' and, according to Malfoy, also 'The Boy Who Scored'. He was not, however, 'The Half-Blood Prince', 'Voldemort', 'The Dark Lord' or 'In Love With Romilda Vane'.

But this story isn't about Harry – if you want to read about Harry, see the seven volumes in the 'Harry Potter' series. This story is about Dudley Dursley, and, for something different, Dudley was … asleep.

His loud snores quietly mimicked his mammoth of a father's, only shaking the windows partially from their frames. His squeaky elephant Mopsie shrieked in protest as he rolled over, its cries pitifully muffled under the Heavy-Weight boy as he settled in to rest.

Dudley dreamed.

He imagined scenes of endless chocolate fields and strawberry sweets, caramel rivers running down beside marshmallow hills, all kept squishy – yet cool! – under a sun of peppermint ice cream. He drooled lightly, tucking his elephant under his chin as he dreamt.

x

Back at Malfoy Manor, the high, cold tone of VOLDEMORT's voice gently curled Severus Snape's teeth backwards into his skull.

"You are very nearly late," VOLDEMORT finished. He waved at seats around a long rectangular table. "Severus, here. Yaxley … beside Dolohov."

Two loping shadows took their places: one directly to the right of VOLDEMORT, and the other as far away as possible. Yaxley had eaten a pizza before he came, and the gentle stench of garlic wafted from his person. VOLDEMORT expelled the reek from his vicinity.

"What's his problem … doesn't even have a nose …" mumbled Yaxley as he grudgingly placed himself besides Dolohov The MURDERER!

The last time VOLDEMORT had been seen was in the Department of Mysteries, in book 5: 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix'. According to the description Ms Rowling has supplied on page 11 of the UK version of 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows', VOLDEMORT has managed to become lipless as well as noseless in the short space of time.

Shielded by strong Occlumency, Snape slouched in his chair thinking, 'Nose … check. Lips … check. Soul …. check. Hehehe.'

VOLDEMORT stared deep into Snape's eyes, and he hurriedly thought about something else – _just imagine that all your audience is in their underwear – _what!? HELL NO. Snape thought of The Plan.

"Good, very good. Lovely shorts. And this information comes –"

Snape turned a darker shade of greasy, blushing. "From the source we discussed."

"My Lord," Yaxley said, weakly attempting to hide the image of Commando!Snape from his mind. He coughed slightly. "My Lord, I have heard differently."

Snape beared his teeth as Noname 'Who Ate Garlic!?' Yaxley explained just what it was that he had heard differently.

Snape's yellow teeth glistened as he listened to Yaxley. He knew Yaxley had heard differently. Snape had confiscated a life-time's supply of Extendable Ears from the Weasleys, however, so the information he had come across was information he knew to be Utterly Correct.

Yaxley continued to blather and whine, even as everyone collectively kicked him under the table and hissed, "Shut up! You call yourself a Slytherin?"

What bearing this statement had on the situation, they weren't entirely sure.

x

At this point in time, Dudley Dursley was far more interesting.

A sugar bird twittered overhead and Dudley skipped happily down the brownie path. He twirled gracefully, and delivered an ol' one-two to a chocolate rabbit, before downing its delicious chocolate button innards.

Then, out of the corner of his eye the Grapefruit Marchers could be seen on the horizon.

Dudley, on his bed, twitched. Mopsie wheezed in pain.

x

VOLDEMORT plotted onwards.

"Potter! Potter this! Potter that! I HEART – er – _HATE_ POTTER!" VOLDEMORT hissed in his high-pitched voice.

"Ooh, how feminine!" cried The Prisoner from below. VOLDEMORT, vaguely flushed, sent Wormtail to keep The Prisoner quiet.

"Lucius. Hand me your wand."

"My wand?"

"Your wand."

Severus, watching the scene with detached nonchalance, hummed in his mind, 'Do you know the Muffin Man? The Muffin Man!? The MUFFIN MAN!' as Lucius's and VOLDEMORT's conversation continued.

"Do you want MY wand, Malfoy?"

"Your wand, My Lord?"

"MY WAND, MALFOY!?"

VOLDEMORT chuckled ominously as Snape tapped his foot lightly to the beat. 'YES, I know the Muffin Man – that lives on Drury Lane?'

"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?"

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius sweated. His wife and child hid their faces in shame.

Figures. Damn husbands. Never know what to say.

A slightly drunk looking madwoman with half-shut eyes and hollow cheeks drooled on the table, panting, "Voldemort! Voldemort!" Once VOLDEMORT's attention was caught, she leaned forwards seductively. Putting aside the fact that she was nearing her forty-sixth birthday, Bellatrix spoke with a voice constricted with emotion.

"My Lord, it is an honour to have you here, in our family's house. There can be no higher pleasure." Mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.

"No higher pleasure," murmured VOLDEMORT, as he, too, smiled seductively. The cast of Death Eaters cringed. They didn't want to know. "That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you." He paused. "Mm. That's good – into my memoirs, I think …"

Bellatrix began to cry with joy and she sputtered and snorted most attractively.

"Your twisted freak of a niece married a werewolf the other day." The comment was off-handed and presented in such a fashion that Bellatrix almost missed it.

But, she didn't.

She stopped crying, her face blotchy pink – yet strangely pale as well – screwed up in embarrassment and anger.

x

Dudley ran away from the Grapefruit Marchers. They were bad, and their juice tasted funny with apricot creams, and spoiled the fudge delights.

The peppermint sun began to melt, and the rivers of caramel began to boil and blacken, the gum-drop fish turning into gooey puddles of marine life.

"No … no more grapefruit. No – can't make me – no! I'll be fit – I'll be fit …" Dudley mumbled, Mopsie struggling for breath under his mass.

The Grapefruit Marchers drew their blowtorches.

"No! Please … do anything – not the … not the – run! Run, sugar mice, I'll … save …"

Dudley rolled over. Mopsie breathed an elephantine sigh of relief.

x

VOLDEMORT looked at Snape. "Do you recognise our guest, Severus?"

Severus watched as Charity Burbage swung like a pendulum above the dining table. 'Euh,' he thought. 'What … distracting decorations – so crude – and at a meal, especially.'

"Severus! Help me!" she shrieked.

Being the Muggle Studies teacher, previously unnamed in the series, Snape really had no idea who she was, but said, "Ah, yes," anyway. Draco, lacking Severus's elevated social position and superior tact, shook his head.

Jerkily.

It.

Says.

In the book.

Anyway.

"Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles … how they are not so different from us …" VOLDEMORT was rambling.

"Severus … please …. please …" Burbage whimpered.

Who the hell was this woman? If she was, indeed, a Professor at Hogwarts, surely she knew that he'd killed Dumbledore just months ago?

And where in the name of holy Smurfs did she find out his name?

"_Avada Kedavra_."

Snape looked on, impassive, as she fell, mid-revolution, to the table with an almighty crash.

"Dinner, Nagini," VOLDEMORT said.

Had he not been so concerned with pretending he were made of cardboard, Snape would have wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Honestly. Setting your snake on the 'Muggle Studies professor'. At the dinner table.

Who would do that?

x

And, on the other side of the country, Dudley Dursley woke up.

X

X

X

A/N: So. The first chapter, The Diddy Lord Ascending, is complete. Thanks to all those reviewers of the first chapter – especially the very first reviewer: an anonymous 'flame'.

If it can be called that.

Which is can't.

But…

Nyeh.


	2. In Dudley's Point of View

Diddydums Dursley and the Dudley Hallows

By Seer of Spots (penname changed from 'Heaven's Flying Fish').

**Chapter Two: **In Dudley's Point of View

A/N: Sorry, but as this chapter is mainly Harry just reading, there will be much creative licence being taken advantage of. And sorry for the wait, also.

o:o:o

Dudley staggered from his bed, drenched in a cold sweat. He panted slightly, hugging Mopsie to his chest. Taking a steadying breath, Dudley's eyes darted about his room. Once he had confirmed that the Grapefruit Marchers were not, in fact, real and, thus, were not about to attack his secret chocolate stash, Dudley placed Mopsie upon his bed and pulled the covers up over her so that no one would ever know she existed.

Dudley changed out of his pyjamas, pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt before hopping loudly around the room as he attempted to get into a sock that was oddly knobbly. It was a little tight and slightly stained; it must have been one of Harry's.

Dudley sighed as he thought of his cousin. The poor dear had hardly come out of his room since the end of term. All he had done was inform the family that they'd all be going into hiding with some of Harry's Wizard friends before he had walled himself up in Dudley's old second room and sent letters through his window.

Dudley never really could understand how the owl Harry sent his letters with knew where to go, but those sorts of – or, rather, any sort of – questions were banned in the Dursley household.

Dressed, Dudley pulled open his door, with a little more force than necessary due to his amazing mass of bulk, and tramped downstairs.

"Morning, Mum," Dudley said, giving his mother a kiss on her bony cheek as he ambled to the refrigerator. "Dad," he greeted; his father answered with a tired grunt. Dudley had noticed his father doing a lot of grunting, recently. He was often angry about what Harry expected the family to do.

"_Pack up and leave," Uncle Vernon had scoffed, pacing heavily backwards and forwards in the loungeroom. "Who does he think he is? Clothed him, fed him – and this is how we're repaid? Told to move out of the stinking house with – with some of _his_ type? Preposterous. I won't subject this family to … to such rubbish!" Dudley's father had said, determinedly._

"_Uncle Vernon," Harry said gravely from the corner. "You haven't any choice."_

"_No choice!? Boy, must I remind you whose house you're in –"_

"_No, sorry, you don't have to remind me; I know very well, thanks. But on my seventeenth birthday, the charms that are on this house –" Harry was interrupted by a rapidly purpling Uncle Vernon._

"_And that's another thing, boy!" Vernon growled, shaking a porky finger in Harry's face. "What's all this about … doing 'You-Know-What' on our house? I never gave any permission for you to' – Vernon's voice dropped to a whisper – 'hocus-pocus on our home. That wasn't in that letter when you were dumped on our doorstep – I ought to give that 'Double-whosit a right piece of my mind." Uncle Vernon continued to mutter under his breath._

"_Professor_Dumbledore_ is dead," Harry said flatly._

_Aunt Petunia gave a little gasp before flushing tremendously and pretending she had sneezed._

_Harry looked briefly over at her before returning to stare at his puce-faced uncle. "He's the only one Voldemort ever feared, and he's gone now. So you've got to get to a safe place. And that's final, Uncle Vernon," Harry finished._

_Uncle Vernon bristled at his nephew's tone, but Aunt Petunia gave him a hopeless look and he deflated. "Fine," Vernon said. "I'll think on it."_

"Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said, breaking Dudley from his daze. "Are you alright, popkin?"

"Yeah, mum, fine. I'll just make – er – me a cup of tea. Not really hungry after the big dinner at the Polkisses last night."

"Are you sure, Dudders? I can make you something small – just a little bacon and eggs; you have to keep your strength up, Dinky."

"Leave him be, Petunia," Uncle Vernon grumbled from behind his paper. "Our Dudley's a grown lad – he knows what he wants and needs."

Dudley wandered to the cupboard and pulled out a cup and a teabag. While he waited for the kettle to boil, Dudley looked around the kitchen.

He loved this kitchen.

Dudley's eyes became a little misty as he realised that this was his last day in this kitchen – filled with so many memories.

The kettle started to whistle, and Dudley poured the hot water into the cup. He dipped the teabag in and out, before throwing it in the trash.

"Are you sure you don't want anything more, Diddums?" His mother pressed, looking distressed.

"Oh, alright," conceded Dudley. "I'll have some bacon, then." Aunt Petunia beamed happily and heaped the food onto a plate.

"There's a good boy. Now run along and get ready, dear," Aunt Petunia said, looking fondly at her son. "You haven't forgotten our, er…" Petunia trailed off, sparing a glance at her rapidly purpling husband. She leaned down and whispered in Dudley's ear, "… travelling arrangements, Diddikuns?"

"Thanks, mum," Dudley mumbled through a mouthful of bacon, shaking his head in answer to her question.

Dudley picked up the cup of tea and thundered slowly upstairs.

Looking sneakily around as he reached the landing, Dudley blushed. He was about to do something _dangerous_. He lowered his hands, hiding the cup of tea behind his voluminous trousers, and shuffled towards his cousin's door. Slowly, he bent down, levelling his eye with the keyhole. His limited view of Harry's bedroom provided him with a most beautiful sight.

Harry's belongings were strewn across the floor, messy and fresh to Dudley's eyes. His own room was kept as neat as a pin by his mother who dotingly tidied every mess he made.

Dudley placed the tea on the floor in front of his cousin's door; the cousin who suddenly began to stir. Dudley's piggy little eye watched as Harry rolled out of bed straight on to the floor, grabbing his glasses as he went. Harry yawned widely, and Dudley compulsively copied the action. Harry blearily blinked as he looked around his room. He suddenly spotted something that was out of Dudley's range of vision and stalked towards it, determination in his eye. Whatever it was, it was heavy, Dudley discerned from the sound of it being dragged across the floor.

'_A body?_' thought Dudley, before Harry came back into sight.

It was Harry's school trunk, and Harry began pulling the contents out of it and onto the floor.

After five minutes, Dudley yawned – this time out of boredom. Watching his cousin empty what amounted to his school bag didn't warrant entertainment status, even in Dudley's small mind.

Dudley retreated to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and washed his face, combing his hair flat. He then went into his bedroom to change for the visitors.

Two hours later, Dudley resettled Mopsie in his arms as he turned a page of his book. His leisurely reading time was shattered by the sudden sound of Harry's bedroom door opening, followed quickly by the crunching of china.

Dudley rolled his eyes. That was his mother's favourite tea-cup, and Harry had just broken it.

Releasing Mopsie, Dudley fell to his knees from the bed and shuffled over to the door, where he leaned his eye in close to the lock. He saw Harry looking angrily down at the broken cup, before he swiftly shot a dirty look at Dudley's door.

Dudley rocked back from the door, slightly afraid. Nonetheless, Dudley bent his eye to the lock once more. Harry seemed to be clutching his hand, which was bleeding. Muttering profanities under his breath, Harry stalked to the bathroom across the hall.

Dudley stared desolately at the shattered china. He sighed. He scratched his buttock. Harry exited the bathroom, sopped up the tea, and slammed into his bedroom.

Dudley lay back on his floor, staring at his ceiling and listening to his cousin rifling around in the littlest bedroom.

Dudley strained his face suddenly, attempting to lift a single brow. He then tried to raise the other one.

Panting with exertion, he gave up, face twitching.

He amused himself for a few more minutes by crossing and uncrossing his eyes, watching the number of fingers on his hands change as he waved them in front of his face.

"Ha ha," he muttered, dazed.

Dropping his hands back to the carpet, he stared at the ceiling again.

Harry's room, which had been suspiciously quiet, suddenly flared with a great crashing and banging as though some sort of large, agitated animal were rampaging around.

"_LIES_!"

His cousin's bellow sent Dudley catapulting to his feet, flying up from the floor, heart racing. He shot a quick one-two out into the empty air before realising that he wasn't in the ring and it was just his cousin going insane next door.

There was a knock on his door.

"Diddy? Daddy wants us all down stairs again." Petunia poked her head in the door. She took in his boxing stance and her face glowed. "Oh, Duddy, you are so dedicated to your sport, aren't you? You can get back to practice when Vernon's had his little, erm," Petunia petered out and pursed her lips over her horsy teeth briefly, "chat about our - " her voice dropped to a whisper " - travelling arrangements."

"Yes, mum," Dudley said, shifting his body so that Mopsie, lying on his bed, was concealed from sight. "I'll be down in a minute."

Petunia smiled dotingly and pottered down the stairs, absent-mindedly polishing the banister as she went.

Dudley turned to his bed and shoved Mopsie in a pocket of his leather jacket before following his mother down into the living room.

Through the window, Dudley saw his father, face turning purple, leaning into and out of the car – packing things away, then removing them, then starting the whole process again.

With a roar and a violent kick to the boot of his car, Vernon threw their belongings on the drive, waved politely to Mr Number Two Privet Drive and stormed back inside.

Dudley sighed and scratched Mopsie behind the ears under his jacket.

Not again.

o:o:o


End file.
